


Five Times Varric Kissed Hawke, and One Time She Kissed Him

by CeruleanBlues



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: 5+1 Things, Be gentle, F/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, my first dragon age fic, non-canon romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-08-14
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:04:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanBlues/pseuds/CeruleanBlues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just like it says on the tin - snippets of Varric x Hawke love. <3</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1 - A Business Arrangement

If Varric had been paying attention, he’d realize that he’d only known the young woman seated across from him for just a few scant hours. But their quick banter - her wits were sharp and she wasn’t afraid to use them - had lulled the dwarf into such a easy companionship, it was hard to believe he hadn’t known Oswynn Marian Hawke for most of his life.  
  
It was her sincerity that struck him hardest. Kirkwall had this effect on people, and it’s effect was felt more keenly as of late. The tension between the Templars and the Circle Mages (not to mention all the poor folks who tried to eke out a living somewhere in the middle) was palpable, and it did things to a person. Made them harder, colder, their guards up so high it would take a dozen blackpowder explosives just to make a dent in that wall.  
  
But not hers.  
  
Hawke was an open book. She held nothing back, and Varric got the impression that if she gave you her word, it was set in stone. Those electric blue eyes didn’t hold an ounce of deception. She looked at you like there was nothing else going on in the room, like you were the only thing that mattered in that moment.  
  
She certainly didn’t make it hard to keep your eyes on her, either. Hair darker than ink framed her soft face in sharp angles, making the pallor of her skin (Maker, Varric had seen dwarves in Orzammar _who’d never seen the sun_ have more colour) all the more noticeable. Hawke was so much softer than the usual crowd that lagged at the Hanged Man, no hard edges shaping her form. She embodied the word lush, all bountiful curves and those other shameful bodice-ripper cliches that Varric hated, rolled into one very real, very female human being.  
  
And yet, that wasn’t what made her absolutely riveting. There was something else, something Varric couldn’t quite put his finger on.  
  
He’d never really considered himself attracted to humans before. Sure, he could appreciate a pretty face, a generous chest or backside, but _attraction_? Nah. That involved something deeper, some connection beyond what could be described in the realm of written words. And that took some effort - the dwarf prided himself on his _extensive_ vocabulary. But Hawke stirred something in him that Varric wasn’t prepared to deal with, something he most definitely hadn’t expected. Not so suddenly.  
  
Pushing it down, he forced himself to focus on the present. Again. For probably the tenth time this evening. Varric cursed his uncharacteristically wandering attention.  
  
He could sense the conversation here was wrapping up by the way that Hawke’s younger brother fidgeted restlessly beside him. Varric could tell that the boy didn’t trust him as far as he could throw him (which, he supposed, would actually be fairly far, judging by his build), and he was anxious to get back home and away from this filthy dive of a bar.  
  
“Well, I suppose I should turn in. I’m glad you two could join me, get some of this business out of the way.” Varric offered them an out graciously, finding himself hoping nevertheless that maybe Hawke would stick around for another pint… or two…  
  
“We should probably go, as well.”  
  
Varric felt his heart sink. _What did you expect, idiot? She doesn’t know you any better than any other of the vagrants crawling in this town._ He plastered his most gracious smile on his face, always better at hiding his tells than dealing with his inner demons.  
  
He stood as the Hawke siblings did, half expecting Carver to bolt for the door, dragging Oswynn along with him.  
  
There was a pause, though. Varric watched as she smoothed the creases out of her long skirt, straightening herself out. Suddenly, she thrust her hand out to him.  
  
“To a fine expedition, and best of partners?” Hawke smiled, an awkward and self-conscious sort of thing. Her hesitation made her no less endearing.  
  
Without a thought, Varric took her hand as delicately as any noble lady’s, and pressed his roughened lips to the soft expanse of its back. He felt her stiffen - _with shock? Disgust? Fear? Something else? Did he want to know?_ \- and as soon as that happened, he let her hand fall gently. Bowing deeply, flourishing it with a theatrical wave of his hand (thank the Maker for the dark of the tavern, but he didn’t trust it not to give away the rush of blood to his face), the dwarf excused himself to his rooms.  
  
“Til we meet again, Serah Hawke.”  
  
She giggled ( _Maker’s breath, that was a sound he would never tire of_ …), the tension of the previous moment diffused . “Til the ‘morrow, Messere Tethras.” Hawke curtseyed with as much flourish as he had bowed to her, and stumbled slightly as she straightened.  
  
Carver’s hand was at her elbow, urging her out the door, and still Hawke smiled. Varric thought her brother’s eyes were going to roll right back into his skull. It only served to make her grin broader as she tossed a wink back to the dwarf over her shoulder.  
  
This wasn’t supposed to be complicated. It was just supposed to be a business partnership. _Strictly_ business. But as Varric watched Hawke’s hips sway and swing their way out of the Hanged Man, he found himself wondering how long he could keep that lie alive for himself.  
  
_Well, shit._


	2. The Deep Roads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time with more dialogue!

"Varric?" 

"Yes, Blondie?"

"When I find your brother, I believe I am going to acquaint him with the pointy end of my staff. Preferably somewhere he'll find uncomfortable. Deeply uncomfortable"

Varric found himself chuckling, despite everything. Three days of having been betrayed, trapped, and left wandering in the ass-end of the Deep Roads, the crew had long since run out of banter. At least Anders and Fenris had mercifully stopped bickering after the first day and a half.

_(Day and a half? Where exactly was are you pulling out this mysterious sense of how much time has passed? Andraste's tits, it 's not like there's any sunlight to gauge it by.)_

The dwarf turned his addled thoughts toward Hawke, straining to see her in the darkness, even though she was only half a step to his right. 

She looked... drawn, greyed out. A pale flower that'd been away from the light too long. Maybe Oswynn Hawke was leaning on her staff a bit harder than usual, maybe her steps were a little more forced. Her optimistic chatter had been the last to die off, the Deep Roads finally swallowing that last spark of hope Varric had come to rely on. Gradually, she diminished in their prescence - Varric worried that if they didn't find a way out soon, Hawke would simple disappear, blending into the blasted rock that surrounded them.

"We should camp." Fenris' deep rumble broke the silence. "We've walked too many hours today."

"And how in the Maker's name would you know that?" Anders bristled in the darkness.

"I counted them."

"How could you possibly - "

"Yes, please." Hawke's gentle voice quieted the bickering pair. "Let's stop." 

Packs rustled and aching bodies started to arrange their bedrolls. Anders and Varric silently built a small rock shelter, so that the light from their supper fire wouldn't draw as much attention from, well, _whatever else_ lurked in these depths. Fenris set off to hunt, and Hawke scavenged for any roots or flammable debris nearby to use as fuel.

Once their meager supper was dealt with (Maker's breath, if he never saw, let alone ate another nug again, Varric would die a happy man), the group decided their watch schedule. And so began the long, restless night.

Varric managed a couple hours of fitful rest when a small sound caught his ears. He cracked one hazel eye wide enough to sneak a peek at what the possible cause could be. What he saw damned near broke his heart.

Hawke sat stiffly in the light of the dying embers, not an arm's length away. She was so still, alabaster skin shadowed deeply in faint illumination, that had Varric not been studying her, he would've thought her made of stone.

The tears, soundlessly coursing down her cheeks, shimmering, gave it all away. 

_Maker, she looks so tired._

Hawke bore her suffering without complaint. She'd told him about her losses - her father, her family home in Lothering, her baby sister Bethany... and yet, she never slowed down. Oswynn Hawke fought harder, and longer than anyone Varric had even seen. If it meant someone else didn't have to experience an ounce of the pain she had experienced in her relatively short lifespan, she'd bleed herself dry. 

He'd never wanted to take anyone away from this world, to shelter them from all the evils in the darkness like he did with this human woman. Those feelings he'd been so good about pushing down, for months now, started their unsettling hum again.

Without a word, Varric slid from his bedroll, and stood. The movement caught Hawke's attention immediately, and she gasped audibly. Clearly, she'd anticipated everyone being deeply asleep so she could weep with some privacy.

"Varric, Andraste's knickers, you..."

Gently, Varric enfolded the startled mage in his broad arms. He didn't speak, because maybe if he did, this moment would be broken, this little sanctuary he wanted to create for Hawke would shatter around them and Varric wasn't sure he would be able to find all the pieces again. 

Hawke almost collapsed against his chest, her arms snaking around him, slender hands fisting the fabric of his tunic. He could feel her tears soaking into the front, breath warm and slightly tickling his chest where her shuddering gasp ruffled his chest hair.

There was a long moment where neither moved, Varric taking the time to memorize the feeling of her pressed against him - the weight of her in his arms, how she was just the right height to cradle against his chest now that she was on her knees. The faint whiff of lyrium and ozone that lingered in her hair, even days after their last battle. How her heart hammered fiercely against his middle, and just how easy it would be to kiss her from this angle.

_You might never get another chance, idiot. You could all die tomorrow. Is this really what you want to regret?_

He still had no idea if Hawke even felt anything more than friendly companionship toward him. But Varric was starting to figure out what was going on in his own mind, in his own heart. The longer they stayed there, clinging to each other in the ever encroaching darkness, the more certain he became. And it scared the piss out of him.

_You'll be the death of me, Hawke. One way or another._

Varric hesitated only a moment, then pressed a firm kiss to her hair, never breaking their embrace. He kissed her as though it would channel her pain into him, so that he could bear it away for her. It begged; _please, let me in, let me share your burden, let me carry you, if only for a while._

And in the ebony depths of that thaig, he felt Hawke relax in his arms. Her chest expanded against him in a deep breath, and as she let it go, Varric noticed a shift in the world. He pulled Oswynn into his arms a little tighter as he reeled with the rush of thoughts now crashing around his brain.

_What have I done?_


	3. Bitter Regret

Varric's first clue that something was up should've been Hawke's marked absence that evening at the Hanged Man. Her absence, along with Fenris's. 

Instead, after shuffling Daisy and the remaining crew out to find their own adventures, Varric busied himself with note taking for his latest serial, and vaguely glancing at scrolls from the Merchant's Guild, before tossing them thoughtlessly into the nearby fireplace. Something prickled in the back of his mind, something that felt amiss, but it was quickly dismissed as inspiration struck and set his quill alight.

His second clue came much later, after the pub had closed, and he made his way back to his rooms. It was faint, a distant melody, drifting down the dimly lit corridor in a mournful way. Varric found himself struck by the tune, and slowed his pace, trying to figure out who the mystery vocalist was, when the words became clearer.

_"Tis a long time that I have been waiting_  
 _For the words that you never would say_  
 _But today my last hope it has vanished_  
 _For they say you are going away..._ "

There was a palpable ache in the singer's tone, as she carried the old Fereldan tune in a high, clear voice. It was strangely familiar, and something about it pulled at his heart. 

Varric paused as he reached his door, when the voice picked up again, much stronger here.

_"I have promised you darling that never_   
_Would a word from my lips cause you pain_   
_And my heart would be yours forever_   
_If you only would love me again..."_

Someone was singing in his room. In his room. Which he kept locked. To which only he had a key. The ginger hairs at the back of his neck bristled with well-concealed alarm, and he carefully slid Bianca from his shoulder.

Gently, he slid the door open, hoping to spot the intruder before they sighted him. The entryway was dim, lit only by the warmth of lantern light coming from the direction of his room. He could see an emptied bottle of wine on the table - _looks like the bottles that Fenris keeps dragging out from the cellar at that mansion_ \- and were those discarded boots and a cloak forming a trail to his room?

The woman's voice, now clear and uninterrupted, began again. 

_"Come and sit by my side if you love me_   
_Do no hasten to bid me adieu_   
_For remember Drakon River Valley_   
_And the girl that has loved you so true."_

Varric stopped dead in his tracks, and felt his pulse quicken as his mind raced to place his ever growing familiarity with this voice. The final notes died in the air, and the sweet, heartfelt sigh that followed brought a sharp realization.

"... Hawke?"

He could hear her gasp, then giggle from the next room. Carefully, he locked the door behind him, and set Bianca down on the table. 

_How did she even get in here_? 

As he turned the corner, Varric found his surprise only growing, among other things. There, sprawled out on the deep red coverlet of his bed, was an alarmingly under-dressed and rose-cheeked Hawke. It seemed like she'd forgotten to put on her pants before leaving her estate, and the belted tunic she wore had fallen open almost scandalously, revealing more of Hawke's full, pale breasts than Varric ever thought he'd get to glimpse. 

_Andraste's dimpled butt cheeks, she's not wearing a breast binder_.

Varric swallowed against his building lust, and tried to make more sense of this unexpected scene before him. Yes, she was partially naked and laying seductively on his bed, like something out of a fantasy he'd indulged in more than once, but something was... off. 

He stepped further into his room, brows furrowing slightly as he studied her more closely near the end of the bed. Hawke's face was flushed, yes, but there was also a puffiness around her reddened eyes. Following along the curve of her elegant neck, Varric could see small, round bruises dotting her collarbone. There was only one thing they could be. 

And Varric had a good idea of who'd made them.

_But if they'd... then where was... why was she here and not..._

"Hawke, what happened?"

She grinned at him salaciously, wriggling on the bed. "Nothing," Hawke's husky whisper gave Varric a pleasurable shiver down his spine, and he did his best to ignore it. Something had happened to his best friend, to the person he was closest to in this blasted city, and he wasn't going to let his increasingly lust addled brain get in the way of helping her.

"Hawke..." Varric's tone was a warning.

"What?" Hawke drawled plaintively. "Can't a girl come visit her trusty dwarf without an excuse?"

"You don't usually just 'come visit' partially dressed." He pointed out.

"So?" She arched her back seductively, her robe falling open further. Hawke tucked up a broad thigh as she did so, exposing the ample, bare curve of her ass. 

_Maker's breath, what is she trying to do, kill me? I can think of quicker deaths..._

“So,” Varric choked on the word, dragging his eyes from this sudden feast of flesh, “Normally, you don’t also reek of wine and have bite marks dotting your chest, either.”

“Maybe not, but maybe this is how I want things now.” Hawke retorted defiantly.

“Drunk and under-dressed?” Varric chuckled, coming around the corner of bed to stand near Hawke’s bare feet. It was all he could do to carefully school his expression into that of friendly familiarity, instead of the predatory lust that sat right beneath the surface. 

“Yes. But you’re currently far too sober and clothed, Varric.”

_Something is definitely wrong. This isn’t Hawke. This isn’t the woman I know. I swear, if that broody bastard did anything to hurt her, it’ll be his heart that’s ripped out.._.

Varric held out a hand to Hawke, and pulled her up to a seated position. From this vantage, they were eye to eye with each other. A novelty, really. And it helped Varric keep his focus, staring into that wide sea of surreal blue she was graced with. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to help Hawke, as her blown pupils and hazy gaze only made one thing clear.

_She is beyond drunk. This is the kind of drunk that only ends badly. The kind that only happens because something went badly. **Very** badly. At least she won’t remember this. Small mercies, I suppose_.

He sighed ruefully. “In any other circumstance, my lady, I would be happy to join in.” Varric confessed, knowing full well that by morning, anything he said to Hawke would be as distant as a memory in the Fade. He squeezed her hand meaningfully.

Hawke leaned forward, close enough that he could feel her breath mingling with his own. Varric felt her free hand ghosting along his torso, lingering in the open expanse of his shirt. He bit his tongue hard, desperately trying not to give in to the pleasurable feeling of her soft fingertips dancing along his skin.

“What’s stopping you?” Hawke whispered, her breath warm against his closed lips. “I can feel your heart racing right now,” she purred, stroking the line of his throat. “I know you want this. Want me. I’ve known for months, my dear.”

Varric swallowed hard. “H-have you now?” He chuckled again, reminding himself that she was blackout drunk, and this was all a very terrible, horrible idea, no matter how _hard_ that reminder was becoming.

“Varric, please...” Hawke keened, her nails grazing his skin gently.

_I’m going to regret this, I know it_.

Softly, Varric pressed his lips against Hawke’s, and practically growled as she slipped her tongue against his. The rich taste of the wine she’d been drinking flooded his senses, heady and sweet and mixed with something he could only define as Hawke. With surprising strength, she pulled Varric flush against her, and his near undoing was the pressure of her heat as she ground into his ever-increasingly painful erection.

_This is wrong, Varric. Wrong. Stop this now, before you can’t. Don’t take advantage of her like this. She deserves so much better._

The whimper that issued from Hawke as he pulled away nearly broke his heart. 

“Hawke,” Varric’s edge of seriousness caught her attention quickly. “If this is really what you want,” he continued, catching her still roaming hand against his chest with his own. “Then you’re gonna have to come back and do this sober.”

He could see the edges of her control begin to crack as he spoke. Hawke bit her lower lip anxiously, and fear began to creep into her gaze.

“Something happened tonight.” Varric continued, “To you. Now,” he pressed a finger to her mouth, silencing any reply Hawke had been about to make, “I’m not gonna make you tell me all the gorey details. That’s between you and, I assume, Broody.”

Hawke’s breath hitched. _Right on the money with that one. Good job, idiot._

“But Hawke,” Varric continued as he saw his friend’s expression slowly sink into the heartache he knew must have been just below the surface, “I can’t do this. We can’t do this. Not now. Not like this.” He watched painfully as the first tears traced silver tracks down the curve of her cheeks. 

Tenderly, Varric swiped them away, even as more fell. “You know this, don’t you?”

Hawke nodded into his hand, and collapsed in a heaving sob against his shoulder. Varric held her as she vented her anger, or grief, or regret, whatever it was she felt in ragged breaths and hot tears that soaked his tunic. He rubbed soothing circles into her back, hushing her with calming nothings. 

After a few moments, with a shaky inhalation, Hawke finally spoke. Her words were a rush of jumbled emotions edged with panic and the incoherency of drink.

“He left me, Varric. Right after. He came to me, we...” Here Hawke trailed off, a sob of clear regret choking the words from her. “And then, he left. Said he couldn’t... that... that...”

Varric sighed, holding her tightly as another round of tears wracked her gentle frame. This, he could do. Comfort her. Be there for her. Show her a compassion she needs most deeply right now. Hawke had enough on her plate without having to worry about Varric and his own feelings.

Later, as she lay passed out on his bed, safe and snug under the warm blankets, he felt a calm pass over him at the sight. She looked so peaceful there. It was an expression that overcame her less and less lately, as self-imposed responsibilities and this Maker-damned city conspired to keep her on a knife’s edge. 

And although here was more than enough room there for him to join her, but he wanted to maintain his distance until she was ready, and thinking clearly. If she truly wanted this, wanted him, like Hawke had said, he knew she’d visit his rooms again. 

_Either that, or there are gonna be a couple of really awkward weeks between us while we both pretend to forget. Or, at least, where I pretend to forget._

He shifted in the nearby chair, trying to find a comfortable angle to sleep. As he finally drifted off, a final thought danced through his mind.

_I am going to kill that elf_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are borrowed and tweaked from "Red River Valley", which is a suitably old song that fits the Fereldan style in my mind.


End file.
